Eve Rounds

obvious title

i walk
for a long while
i’ve been a runner
hiker biker
a special occasion stroll
a brisk paced too many beers too many burgers
a straight forward errand

this evening
i just walk

i approach
two older women one dog on a too slacked leash
the older proudly wears her thinning hair tight beneath a sport band
“oooh some oreos and ice cream”
i laugh
such a secret coincidence
and while it stings it sings
her poodle shuffles suspiciously at me
her friend doesn’t notice me nor does she acknowledge the delicious snack suggestion

i walk
choosing the direction of darkness
the sky offers more interest
the beach offers more space
and i never mind getting caught
in the rain
it always stops
and then we’re all
nourished and new

i walk
until the sand overtakes the pavement
sliding out of my flip fops and rolling up my jeans i forge ahead towards the water
fucking cold.
un fucking necessary.

i walk
the smell of cigarette smoke in open air
takes me hostage
transports me to those island nights
the quiet breeze surrounding
the noise within shrieking
wishing wishing wishing
you were not beside me
i extract myself by concocting a new scenario
one of murder and a complicated body disposal
one of the love of my life to be
vengeance is stagnant
love is movement

i walk
until a careful collapse
rump first
then all of me
not a care for my hair
directly on the sand
i pull up my shirt
ever so slightly
just enough
to feel the sand snuggle into the small of my back

i watch
the clouds seem to plane hop
hitching rides to bigger storms
each arrival exposing more of the expanse above
just for me
i hear
the volleyball game of fully clothed men
language unknown yet such an apparent sense of camaraderie
i lay
for a long while
i sit
slightly disoriented
i stand
shake out my hair
unroll my jeans

i walk
sliding back into my flip flops
my face must look so solemn
based on the faces that look my way
but it’s just my face
having softened on my skull

as i walk
the sand pools into the remaining cuff of my jeans
my thoughts dissolve without the fruition of thunder
suddenly i’m home

good morning untitled

what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as

snip snip

the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to

but ok but

write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing

a 5 7 5 for e

peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!


is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would

a poem about you for you (and you)

you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love